I've been a bit hesitant to jump in with these posts about menopausal body changes, but I'm "delurking" on your post, Delurked, because I think you are on the right track.
I'm now heading towards my seventh decade, still in reasonably good shape and only a size up from my "normal" forties self, but my current body isn't ever going to go back to what it was in my late fifties and early sixties. "Healthy eating" and "working out at the gym" are still very important to me, but they are no longer euphemisms for weight loss or trying to tone up my physique so I can shimmy into a tight pair of jeans and a form-fitting top.
Downsizing my wardrobe a few years ago really brought home the idea that wearing clothes which made me feel good about myself ought to be my new goal. My body no longer was as malleable as it used to be. Losing 10-15 pounds made me look haggard instead of svelte and my bust/waist/hip ratios seemed to go their own way--my bust and hips shrank while my middle stayed more or less the same. My upper arms were strong, but the muscle definition seemed ropey instead of firm. It is what it is...
Trying to hang on to my former self just made it harder to come to terms with who I am now. I've come to think there is lots of middle ground between desperately fighting the signs of aging and totally throwing in the towel. Figuring out a style which makes me feel energetic and happy (and which still elicits compliments from my husband!) is a far cry from giving up. It's my way of coming to terms with how I'll look, and want to feel, in my seventies. So I vote don't look backward, purge what belonged to your former self and move into your future.
ETA: I'm probably an outlier here, but I've become dubious of the value of a "holding zone" for items which no longer fit my size, shape, lifestyle, or emerging style goals. The concept worked me when I was younger--when my body responded to diets and exercise regimes, or when my jobs or locations changed, or when It was easier to morph between style preferences because the range of what worked was greater--but, as I got older, those pieces just sat mournfully creating a kind of clothing graveyard. Aging is hard enough without that kind of depressing reminder.